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Blue Note's High Notes, at 70

Last evening—and tonight and tomorrow only—wizard Wynton Marsalis and the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra (joined by vocalist Diane Reeves and tenor sax master Joe Lovano), celebrated "70 Years of Blue Note Records" in Rose Hall at New York's JALC. And for two bewitching hours, as the band spun different shades of gold from the Blue Note vault, the House of Swing swayed like a freak Nor'easter.

The storm began gathering from the very first number, an explosive Dixielandic rendition of Sidney Bichet's 1945 classic "Weary Blues" by one of the tightest septets in creation. Then it was the full orchestra's turn, high-stepping through Lou Donaldson's "Blues Walk," from 1958, fueled by Sheman Irby's exquisitely articulated alto sax (on his own arrangement).At various junctures, Marsalis—ever the laid-back sage, the reverent reverend of the music, and the generous host (this is, after all, the music palace he fashioned from scratch five years back)—would pepper the proceedings with nuggets of Blue Note's lore. Marsalis explained, for instance, how the label was founded in 1939 by "two German Jews, Alfred Lion and Francis Wolff, who fled to America" and created a company espousing a new sound, "still in its adolescence," which the two men had loved as adolescents. The audience clearly reveled in Marsalis's breezy anecdotes, the aural equivalents of liner notes, courtesy of house historian Phil Schaap.

The evening (which doubled as a 25th anniversary bash for Blue Note C.E.O. Bruce Lundvall) was a string of blissful high notes. Joe Lovano's take on Horace Silver's "Steamroller Blues" was popping hot and piston perfect, thanks to a rhythm section that roared in sync like a steam locomotive. ("Joe," Wynton observed, "is always ready to bring a profoundly good time.") For the first of two Dexter Gordon tunes, Vincent Gardner's jaunty arrangement of "Fried Bananas," Marcus Printup's trumpet was so spine-peeling it must have dislocated a few stray vertebrae. And on Gordon's "Cheese Cake," piano prodigy Dan Nimmer's solo referenced other songs with such élan that his playing sounded positively multilingual, more like spoken repartee: William-Powell-and-Myrna-Loy at the keyboard.

The steep cascades and slow sashays of "If You Could See Me Now" highlighted Ryan Kisor's lethal horn and Lovano's talent for mellifluous fluidity. Tenderly, Joe Temperley's baritone sax turned "Search For Peace" into a ballad as sweet and slow as Grade-A honey, infused with bittersweet "Round Midnight" undercurrents. (Quoth Wynton: "Joe burned a lot of midnight oil on those chord changes.")

And then came the K2 of Blue Note Night: "Misty," by vocalist Dianne Reeves, who has graced the label since 1987. (If you're unfamiliar with this modern-day embodiment of Sarah Vaughn, Judy Garland, and the Angel Gabriel, just ditch this post and go over to iTunes and download the soundtrack to George Clooney's film "Good Night and Good Luck." Reeves can coax out nuanced phrasings that have never alighted upon an earthly ear. She can turn audiences to Silly Putty. She can travel octaves in the course of a single widening smile. She has, as Marsalis put it, "Scrupulous musicianship. And deep, everlasting soul. Have mercy."

With Marsalis accompanying her on muted horn, Reeves, in a single, perfect take, seemed to traverse and consummate the three states of jazz rapture: the before, the during, the after. The song itself seemed seduced, then mastered, then spent. And the audience, in thrall, leapt to its feet as one.

After the set, Marsalis, backstage, spoke of Reeves in disbelief. "That Misty'?" he said. "I saw two, three guys in the band, crying." He just stood there shaking his head in awe.